It was New Year's Eve, and things were finally starting to go right. Our car had broken down outside Forsyth, Ga., on Christmas Eve, and we had had to hitchhike to northern Florida to visit my mother, leaving our car at a garage for repairs.
When we got back to Forsyth, the repair shop declared even more repairs were necessary, and we had to ask my wife's parents to wire us some money. The closest Western Union station was in Macon, Ga., though, and we had to hitch rides to pick the money up.
According to Bess' watch, we had just enough time to get the money, rush to the bus stop and catch the last bus back up to Forsyth.
We ran to the bus station with just a few minutes before the bus was to leave.
It looked like things were finally getting easier. But the bus had already left. Bess' watch had stopped, and it was actually later than we thought. It was a low point of a very difficult trip.
Looking around, I noticed a large number of church buses were revving up. Apparently, there was a Baptist youth convention going on. With faint hope, I stepped into one of the buses.
"Is there any chance you all are going to Forsyth?" I asked, and then explained our predicament.
"No," said the bus driver, "it's out of our way. But wait. Hey, kids!" he shouted. "Should we take this couple to Forsyth?"
The children all screamed "Yeah!"
We got on the bus, and the kind Baptists of Georgia carried us to our waiting car.